Adsumtivus
by RexcaliburEchoes
Summary: [Crossposts from Wattpad, WIP] / [Adsumtivus - Defective, incomplete.] In which I post a variety of one-shots from Wattpad. Most, if not all are unedited. T, but will change rating if requested. Warnings are in chapters as necessary.
1. Hide And Seek Envy (Songfic)

_**Warnings**_ _: Mentioned child neglect, implied child abuse, attempted suicide, minor swearing_

 _ **-S-**_

 _Pulling pranks with a straight face,_

 _Using tears while making my excuses_

Joker sighed. Another day in this hellhole. He was lucky that the Northern Fortress took in orphans, but somehow, he didn't feel as lucky as he should. As he lay on his bed, he remembered his old life, his mother, and his father.

 _"You bitch! You created him! He's your problem, not mine!"_

He had heard the shouts and arguments from the main room from his bedroom. He decided to put it out of his mind in favor of getting some rest. As he fell back onto the moldy mattress, he tugged at his matted hair. Giving up on removing the knots, he curled up and tried to sleep.

 _It's so lonely, I wanna play around,_

 _Syrupy like honey._

The next day, he was jolted awake out of a deep, dreamless sleep by his drunk father.

"Get up, you mutt." He hissed.

"Yes, father." Joker mumbled.

"And make us some food. It'd better be perfect." Joker knew better than to argue with his father, lest he was beaten. As he left his room, he saw some of the other kids playing outside through a somewhat clean window. He desperately wanted to join in their game, but he was smacked by his father. He flinched as the belt cracked against his back.

"Move it!" The older man snarled.

"Y-yes, father,"

 _To you, and even you,_

 _To be blunt, I'm not really needed_

 _In this world, right?_

He was sent to bed on an empty stomach. He knew that he should be grateful that his parents had the mercy to not punish him even more, but he couldn't bring himself to. He curled up in a ball on his bed, reflecting on the beginning of his life that he could remember.

 _"He's the one that causes all of our fucking problems! You caused the accident to happen!"_

 _"Just dump him, them! He'll die sooner or later! He's not my problem!"_

All of these comments struck him harder than any punishment that his parents had ever dolled out at him.

" _Joker!_ " His father roared. The small child flinched and tried to hide behind the wall. His father grabbed him by his hair and dragged him into the main room. Joker whined piteously, but he was already resigned to what fate lay before him now.

 _That festival seems pretty fun..._

 _'At least they didn't touch my face.'_ Joker thought miserably. _Maybe I'll sneak out to the festival tonight..._

The small boy slipped out of bed and lifted his small window. he had but his long, silver hair in a braided ponytail, which was the best that he could do to look presentable. His grey and black clothes were patched up to the best of his ability. He slipped closer to the festival and was hit by the sheer energy and laughter.

The Norhian festival _was_ really fun. All of the chattering people and the laughing children running through the streets filled him with happiness for once. He joined in the festivities, singing and laughing along with the others.

 _Come on,_

 _Walk, walk, come over here,_

 _Clap your hands and walk, rattatta_

The energy of the festival was reflected in his violet eyes. But his smile froze and his blood ran cold when he saw a family nearby. The son, he assumed, was giggling as he was tossed in the air as was caught by strong arms. The family of three was basking in life, without a care in the world.

His smile evaporated like fog on a sunny day.

 _That's enough, I'm tired, go away,_

 _Today, too, I'm a bad child, an unwanted child._

He slipped back into his room, drawing the thread-bare, moth-eaten sheet to his shoulders, trying to preserve what little heat he had. He fell into an uneasy sleep, the happy family's laughter echoing in his dreams, taunting him with something that he would never have.

 _I dreamed of rich colors,_

 _But when I woke up, all I see are my two black hands._

 _Only I'm being torn apart,_

 _That voice sounds so happy as it sings._

When he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar setting. As he slowly became more alert, he realized that he was laying on the doorstep of the Northern Fortress. As he reached to knock on the door, the door opened, startling the boy and making him flinch in expectancy of a blow to the head. The maid looked at him strangely, but nevertheless, lead him into a washroom and handed him a new set of clothes. He got the message.

When he was finished, he was immediately led to the other servant's quarters. His heart sank a little as he realized that he was forced to to the same thing that he was doing for all of his early life. As he worked, he met the current resident of this fortress that he was to serve. He recognized that his master's energy and happiness was reflected back to the festival child last night.

 _Come on,_

 _Tonight, tonight, at that place,_

 _Everyone, let's go, hurry! Rattatta_

 _That's good, that's great, if you feel envious_

 _A carefree child dances happily, unknowing._

He was told that he couldn't do anything properly. He was constantly reminded of his life before being dumped here. The chores, the staff, everything. It was like he was still trapped.

Being trained by Gunter didn't make matters any better, either. It just painted a target on his back for more comments. He skimmed through his work so that he wasn't around the other servants, even though it would make him have to do it all over again later that day. During mealtime, he faked eating; he wasn't that hungry anyways. It would usually end up in the bin, without so much as a spoonful missing.

Despite being constantly mistreated by the staff, the master always wanted to talk to him for some reason. He didn't understand it. He was glad that he was lucky enough to dodge most questions, but one day, that luck ran out.

 _One, two, three, four, let's play a game of hide-and-seek._

 _Hiro-kun, Haru-chan, I found you._

"Joker, what's wrong?" They asked. They received no response other than a turn of Joker's head and nearly being hit with his braided ponytail.

"Hey, Joker, answer me! why are you so sad all the time?"

 _Out of breath, we play a game of tag,_

 _And I was caught by you._

"I-I'm not sad!" _Yes, I am._ Joker hesitated before adding, "Master Kamui." He was painfully aware that the staff was watching him. They were eager to see him fail.

"I'm only thinking about my past, Master Kamui. There really is no reason to worry about me."

"O-oh. I just..." Joker scuffed the toe of his boot guiltily at the hurt look they had plastered on their face.

"Excuse me," Joker mumbled, and he left Kamui's side, only to be confronted by some of the other servants. All of their words blended together except for the one sentence that stood out. The one that cut the most deep into his already depressed mind.

 _"He's so useless, always creating more work for us. He should just go and die."_

Joker's mind unwillingly flashed back to his mother's words all those months ago.

 _"You useless child. You're just an accident that no one cares about. Go and drown yourself, if you truly wish to be useful."_

He nodded mutely, the echoes of all of that torture still in his head. He now knew what he had to do. He barely registered the words that the senior maid told him to do.

 _Come on,_

 _Walk, walk, come over here,_

 _Clap your hands and walk, rattatta_

 _Talking a trembling step forward,_

 _Alone I say "bye-bye"._

His task was to clean every surface so much so that it would shine even in the dark. He trudged down to the river, the bucket that he took dragging behind him with a soft grating sound on the dirt. He waded, knee-deep, in the flowing river as he stared at his reflection. He had dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep caused by all of the nightmares. His skin was pale, paler than normal. His frame was emaciated, and his cheeks were hollow from the lack of food. With the traitorous whispers ringing in his ears, he dove forward into the water, tears streaming out of his dull, purple eyes.

 _'I will end my miserable life once and for all.'_

The master heard the splash and saw the distinctive white hair in a braided ponytail dive into the water. Joker didn't resurface.

"Joker!" They dashed outside to the river, knocking their siblings and servants alike down in their haste to the riverbank.

Joker vaguely heard someone call his name. He breathed in water and soon, his body started to writhe, trying and failing to expel the blue liquid from his lungs. He saw a pair of red eyes before everything dimmed and went black.

 _Hey,_

 _Love, love, come over here,_

 _With open hands, I touch it- ouch!_

 _Is it all right? Is it fine? I open my eyes._

 _Today and even tomorrow, let's all play together._

Joker felt himself being lifted, and he saw a bright flash of light. Blearily, he opened his eyes and saw them bending over him worriedly.

 _I'm in the infirmary..._

"Joker! _Joker!_ " They called. He shifted his gaze to his distraught master.

"M-Master," he croaked.

"Don't ever do that again!" They wailed. "I don't wanna lose you!" They embraced Joker's limp form, burying their head in the crook of his neck. The young butler-in-training's eyes widened before closing. He wept then. He finally believed that he belonged somewhere. He would devote himself for the debt that he could never repay.

 _"Thank you." He whispered._


	2. A Silly Doodle

I stepped onto the train, my shoes squeaking on the floor a little as I walk to an open seat. With a soft _thump_ , my bag slips off of my back and is shoved under it. I rummage through my folders, pulling out some sheets of homework and a pen from within the depths of the bag. I size up the sheets of paper before beginning to write answers. Unconsciously, I mumble answers under my breath. I stop, shake my head and think briefly about stopping that bad habit. Nevertheless, I turn my attention back to my papers, determined on getting it done before I got home.

I sit back after a few minutes, rubbing the back of my neck and pushing my glasses further up my nose. Examining my surroundings, I spot some other passengers sitting across from me. They slumped against the partition, their body language suggesting that they were asleep. I slightly and pull out my drawing tablet.

 _One little sketch can't hurt. I don't think they'll mind._ I think. I find a pencil after rummaging around a bit and click open the lead. I draw the pad closer to me. My eyes flicker to the two passengers, then back to the paper in preparation.

I start the drawing with a rough circle for the one man's exposed forehead. Extending the line downwards, I detail his elongated face and square jaw. I sketched his neck as a triangle-esque shape and his shoulders as rectangles. His torso became a rather large triangle. His legs and hips were the tough part of drawing his scrunched-up figure. After a few failed attempts, I settled on another triangle, skipping over the hips somewhat and detailing his legs and feet.

The other man's chin droops downwards, his hair dangling in his face. I stared at his hair oddly before saying to myself, "Blue hair? Who has hair that shade of blue? And green, for that matter!"

I turn back to the sketch. "Pah, it's none of my business."

Instead of defining his jawline, I decided to do a top-down perspective of his head. Drawing a circle easily, his neck, shoulders, torso, and legs progressed as I continued to sketch.

I wondered if I should draw hands, before ultimately deciding against it. It wouldn't fit, anyways. I skipped over detailed clothing, opting to draw them in simple t-shirts and jeans. It was a sketch, not a total illustration.

Suddenly, the green haired man shifted in his sleep. I froze, my pencil burning in my hand as it hovered by his head to finish his hair and face. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't wake up. He just sighed and seemed to go back to sleep. I sighed with him. How embarassing that would be!

The hair was the easiest part- a few pencil strokes here, a swipe there...

With a mental flourish, I finished the sketch. In the bottom corner, I sign it with initials of an old pen name of mine. I admire my work for a few seconds before quietly snapping a photo of it and separating it from the rest of my drawing book. A cool, female voice announced the next stop. I stuff my implements into my bag, hiking it up my shoulders and preparing to leave.

 _-M-_

Forsyth wakes with a jolt and a yawn. He straightens up, unsticking his face from the pole. A cool, female voice was announcing their stop.

"Python," He shoves the other man beside him. "Python, you're drooling on my shirt."

"I'm not, trust me. You would know if I was," Python snarked. He, too, sat up and yawned widely. "Eh? What's this?" He picks up a piece of paper that was sitting next to him.

"It looks like a drawing." Forsyth says, looking over Python's shoulder. The paper was slightly heavier than normal printer paper- and stiffer, too.

He turned it over, reading a note that was hastily scribbled on the back.

 _You two were just so serene when you were sleeping- I couldn't resist myself (like that isn't creepy at all, oops)! Don't worry about returning it, it's my gift to you!_

 _\- The Midnight Ranger_

"Huh." Python quips, a little more than weirded out. "Well, that's... nice of them."

"Hey, it was a nice gesture! I wonder who this 'The Midnight Ranger' person is?"

"Probably a pen name." He stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. "I'm eager to get home and have a nice nap. I'm exhausted."

"You just slept!" Forsyth protested. "It's your turn to do the dishes tonight- I did them twice in a row!"

" _Fiiiin_ e, twist my arm."


	3. That Kite!

Forsyth looked up. The rectangular kite was tangled in the thin branches towards the top of the tree. Puffing out his cheeks, he places his foot on a knot on the tree and reaches for some of the lower branches. His half-formed, impulsive idea ran through his head as he climbed. He was going to his kite no matter what!

He was quite tall for his age, though only a few inches taller than Python. He was pretty thin, but strongly built, probably from all the running around and heavy work he did, despite what his father said. When he wasn't with his studious father he was running about, dragging the carpenter's boy on every excursion. Ever the energetic one, he would rather chase frogs in the mud by the stream or fly a kite than study and write books all day.

The boy climbed higher scraping his palms and knees. He didn't care; he was so close! The kite was just in sight! Its multicolored tail flaps forlornly in the slight breeze. He slowly reached for it, edging closer to the end of the branch. Just a little closer...

By this time, the branch was bending dangerously under his weight as he got closer towards the end. In his one-track mind oriented brain, he failed to notice this and continue to close in on the end of the branch.

His small hand brushed against the tail and he excitedly moved closer.

 _Bad move._ He realized, too late. With a sharp _sha_ p, the branch dumped him and his kite out of the rather tall tree.

He hit the ground hard. _Thud._ Reflex tears welled in his eyes and he hastily scrubbed them away. A throbbing pain was growing in his left wrist. He sniffled, more tears welling up. It _hur_ t! But he wouldn't be seen crying at all. He blinked away his tears and reached for his kite. He got his prize! He stood up, legs wobbling like a newborn deer. Maybe... Maybe he should stay put for a bit.

 _ **-M-**_

Python sat back, looking around for Forsyth. He looked at the piece of wood he was carving and placed it aside. _Where was h_ e?

Python was also thin, though that could have contributed by the slight shortage of food his family suffered last Pegastym. He fell only a few inches short of being Forsyth's height. His dark blue hair was styled in a lazy undercut and an air of disinterest followed him where ever he went.

The bushes rustled. He looked up.

"Forsyth, is that you?"

"Yeah..." Came the pained response. Forsyth pushed his way through the undergrowth, cradling his wrist close to his chest. He was grinning even though he was scraped and bruised up from falling several feet off the ground.

"I found my kite!" He holds out the stiff canvas plaything. "I flew it into a tree, but I got it!"

Python's eyes flickered to Forsyth's wrist. "Why're you holding your wrist like that?"

"Er... Well, I _did_ fall from the tree, but I am a-ok!" He curls his right hand into a fist and places it on his chest.

Python reached for his other wrist. The boy flinched, but the grip was gentle.

"Stop getting caught up in these messes." He grumbles. His navy eyes meet green-hazel ones. "You'll get scolded again, won't you?"

"O-Oh... Well..." Evidently, he hadn't thought about that. He grimaced again as Python wrapped his handkerchief around his hand.

After a minute, Python broke the silence. "So. What were you gonna show me?"

Forsyth's face lit up again. "Oh! Well I found out this cool trick..."


	4. The Final Five

_**Warnings**_ _: Blood, injury, death, character death_

 _ **-S-**_

 _Blood._

 _Screams._

 _Weapons._

The pictures that paint themselves in story books are not what they are in real life.

Instead of a heroic, glowing figure leading the charge, grimy and bloodstained war veterans lead the charge, calling for action. They call for one final push against the much larger force. It was one hundred to one thousand.

It was hopeless.

Arrows fire into the ranks of the army, felling anything that wasn't covered in armor. Pegasi screamed out, white feathers stained with red fluttering to the ground. Their riders were thrown from their saddles as javelins soared towards them. The metal tips smashed through the light plates and pierced flesh.

Blood rained from the heavens above, further dirtying the foot soldiers below.

Steel rang on steel, wood cracked on wood as blows were met with weapons and shields. Slashes glances off of armor, scarring the metal until it was no more.

The enemy pressed on, sensing weakness. Spells flew into the small army, shattering their ranks. Horses spooked and bolted, ejecting their riders onto the cold, hard dirt. The massive knights dropped like flies, the purple smoke suffocating them until they could think no more. The leader screamed at the ranks to organize themselves, but it was no use. The army was broken.

The one hundred troops were whittled down to ninety. Then eighty. Then fifty. Every time the enemy surged more units fell.

 _Five left._

It was left to his most trusted friends. Sword in hand, the black-haired boy panted.

"So... This is how it ends?" He grimaced, slashing at an advancing mage, but he misses.

"It can't end here!" The second oldest out of them shouted, nocking a few arrows to his bow to wipe out a nearby squad of swordsmen.

The last mage in the party coughs. "Yeah? Well, it's just the five of us against, what, nine hundred? Great odds."

The remaining girl pants, on the verse of collapse. "I c-can't..."

She sinks to the ground, everything swirling to black.

 _Four_.

The mage coughs up blood this time. He casts a feeble fire spell. His fingers were blistered and numb. His hearing distorted, he didn't hear the shouts until it was too late.

The shaft of the javelin peirces his chest, killing him instantly.

 _Three._

The archer backed into his leader and his best friend. "Hey... Since we're not... We're gonna die, I just wanna say that it was great being with you guys."

"Yeah... Me too." His friend grins. "Oh... One more thing. I love you."

An arrow buries itself in his throat.

 _Two._

The brunette's heart sped up. "N-No, it can't be! You... You idiot!"

He grabs his friend as he calls, ignoring the charging Cavalier.

"You can't for! Please! Wake up! Stop messing around!" He cries, tears starting to run faster and faster down his face. "Wake-"

The Cavalier strikes downwards, his lance piercing his skull. The archer moves no more.

 _One._

The leader was surrounded. He's exhausted and shaking, but he won't fall without a fight. He strikes out, but the slash merely glances off of the Paladin's armor.

His enemy grins. "And so, the mighty Deliverance falls... And Rigel is victorious."

With a swift stab, the lance falls.

 _Zero._


	5. Consortia

Well, this was awkward.

The mage that Luthier had been shadowing had actually been in Alm's army for longer than he had. How did he not see him before?

Simple: he hadn't cared enough introduce himself to the other, so they never met.

Oops.

Either way, it was... Rather amusing (and it hurt his self esteem quite a bit) to see this child of similar magic ability that was half his age on a quest for power. Just like he was.

Dark brown eyes met red ones, and they stood there and stared for a few seconds, watching each other.

"Ehn..." Luthier started.

"Nnn." Kliff mumbled at the same time.

... They didn't seem to want to speak very much.

"Power?" Luthier says after a bit.

Kliff only nods. "And... You?"

"Yes."

Kliff gave his horse a little kick, and Luthier did so, too. It was silent, save for the quiet clip-clop of horse's hooves on the earth.

Luthier averted his eyes downwards, watching the grass sink beneath his horse's hooves. He wasn't sure what to say. Did he ask how the other's travels were going, or comment on the weather? What was he supposed to do?!

Fortunately for him, Kliff decided to break the silence first.

"Are you headed for Archanea? I heard that it was nice this time of year. Especially for studying. Definitely studying." Kliff trailed off at the end, trying to think of something witty to add on to the end, but his voice died out.

"Yes," Luthier confirmed. "Er. To both. Studying and sight-seeing."

A pause.

"You?" He added as an addendum.

"Yes. Uh. I mean-" Kliff makes a vauge gesture with his hands. "I am, too."

Luthier nods in agreement. "Good."

Now what?

"Do you wanna rest?" Kliff looks up and stretches in his saddle. 'i don't know about you, but I've been riding all day and I'm pretty sure I can't feel my legs. Or anything below my waist, really."

"Same here. I'm not sure how Cavaliers do it." Luthier smiles thinly and tries to dismount. He manages to not fall of his horse, but his newfound partner-in-crime falls face-first out of his saddle.

"Ow."

The white-haired mage doesn't even move- he lays there, unable, or unwilling to move. After a few minutes, he rolls over, but still refuses to stand up.

"I guess we can set up a camp here?" He looks over at Luthier and raises an eyebrow. "That is, if you're alright with my company."

Luthier shugs. "Two's company."

"This is going to be a long journey."

"Yes- wait, what are you implying?!"


	6. Ten-Thousand Stars (Songfic)

_**Warnings:**_ _Contains mentions of injury, blood, death, gore, vomit, murder._

 _ **-S-**_

 _Put on a mask and don a false identity_  
 _I'm broken down into my core_

"Lukas! We need you on the front lines!" Clive calls over to the red general. "They're trying to break through the front lines; the line will break if you don't get there soon!"

Lukas looks up from behind his shield. He had been tasked with holding the line here, but if their left flank was failing...

He turns on his heel, his tattered cape fluttering behind him. "Of course, Clive."

He didn't want to fight. It was easily the last thing that he wanted to do on this earth. Why was he enlisted in this Deliverance?

Ah, yes. It was his brother that forced him to join.

Lukas breathed in, grasping his lance tighter in his hand and set off, blocking another glancing blow with his large shield.

It was another battle- one that he did not wish to fight in.

But alas, he must fight and survive.

 _Blood dripping, head is splitting,_  
 _Words are falling free_  
 _I can't take anymore_

With his heavy silver lance in hand, he strikes out at the approaching Cavalier. His dented armor dig into his skin, causing large welts to form. His fingers were blistered from the wooden shaft of his weapon, but he had to keep going.

 _"Keep fighting, keep going, keep pushing,"_ he whispered to himself. His mantra, no matter how many times he repeated it, always felt dull and lifeless.

A slash. _Keep fighting._

A shove. _Keep going._

A loud scream. _Keep pushing._

 _One by one it's over, this silence can't get louder_  
 _Bolt my jaw shut and throw away, away, away the key_  
 _Just one second longer, A speed run to game over_  
 _I am a fatality_

Blood trickled from a gash over his temple, but he didn't care. It was another battle that he didn't care for. It was a useless cause.

His lance flashes out and catches his opponent by surprise. His lips curl into a bitter smile.

 _They never learn,_ his thoughts mockingly turn on them. _But then, neither do I._

Lukas straightens, his red armor a stark contrast to the swarms of blue on both sides. He stared down at the enemy Cavalier, who stood in the back of the army. They returned his gaze, gripping their lance tighter.

They scream and charge straight for him.

 _I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing_  
 _I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard_  
 _Let me feel panic, panic, panic again_  
 _Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars_

Lukas' eyes blazed as the horseman charged at him. His mouth opens and he screams out a battle cry.

Lukas raises his shield, intent on blocking the downward thrust from the charging Cavalier. His movements were slow and sluggish, however, being worn down from hours upon hours of battling needlessly.

The lance comes down on Lukas' head, but he moved back just in time. The blow pierced his armor, just above his chest. He gasped in surprise, taken off guard by the blow.

Lukas backs up several paces, dislodging the lance with a swift blow from his shield. The wooden shaft cracked and bent, the material becoming misshapen and useless.

"Pray this ends quick!" He hisses through gritted teeth. Stamping his right leg forward, Lukas swung his weapon, the tip catching on the horse's flesh and leaving a deep, jagged gash. It whinnied and backed up, walking against its rider's commands.

Lukas pressed his attack, striking with an alarming swiftness that none would expect from such a slow looking general. Soon, the Cavalier fell, soundly beaten by the knight.

 _And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me_  
 _Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely_

Lukas straightens, breathing heavily. He leans on his lance, his vision blurring. He felt exhausted, but whatever he did must have sent a shockwave through the army- the tides of battle were starting to turn.

His line that he was so desperate to hold was starting to push back against the enemy forces. They were no longer struggling, but surviving, winning, even. All because he defeated this one Cavalier.

It was a mind-bending concept that made his head spin. No... That wasn't just him. Everything was spinning. It was nauseatingly fast.

The carnage, the red. The death. It affected him more so now than it ever had. Why was he feeling so hot? He felt so... Ill...

He opened his mouth to call for a medic, but instead he vomited, dropping to his knees. His stomach churned. Everything was red.

Then black.

 _Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity_  
 _Come on, come and be free_

 _Come on, come and see_

 _ **-M-**_

 _I'll cross my heart and swear I'll never be like that_  
 _With the tears seeping through the laughs_  
 _Blood dripping, guts are spilling_  
 _Old fears come for me_  
 _How long can I last?_

Lukas' eyes flutter open. The sky wasn't black. No, it was tan.

He must have been in a tent.

His tent? No. The infirmary.

He sits up, much to the protest of those sitting around him.

"Clive...?" He rasps. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A pair of hands guided his to a waterskin, of which he downed gratefully.

One his thirst was slacked, Lukas felt the need to ask. "Did we win the battle?"

Clive nods wordlessly. "Yes... We did."

His voice sounded oddly put out. It was as though he was not telling the full truth.

"How many did we lose?"

"Not many, thanks to your heroic actions, but..." Clive takes a breath. "Lukas, are you alright?"

The pain that he'd previously ignored was starting to come back. It spread through his chest with a dull, aching sensation. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

The healer quickly glanced at Clive, who shook his head.

"No. No, it's nothing. Forget I asked." He reassured.

Lukas looks deep into Clive's eyes, searching for anything that gave away his condition. Usually, he was an open book, but now...

He couldn't read anything.

Before he could ask a second question, Clive stands, placing a hand on the red General's shoulder.

"Heal up, Lukas. We need you on the front lines, as you're a valuable asset to this army."

Without another word, Clive slips out of the tent, leaving Lukas alone with his thoughts.

 _Is something wrong...?_ He muses to himself briefly to himself. _I don't recall anything being off, until today. He's never treated me like that._

Shaking his head, he tries to place it out of his head. If Clive didn't tell him something about him, it was probably for the best.

Of course, the only time that Clive complimented him like that was if he was trying to blithely fix something wrong.

Something wrong with him.

A cold hand clutched at his heart and he shivered. Had he been replaced? Was he nothing? Why would Clive say something like that, when he's already done so before in a poor attempt to reassure him that he wasn't... cold.

It was true- he _was_ cold. He was a cold-blooded murderer that didn't have hold any regards for life. He couldn't keep going like this. He never wanted to fight. It was not what he wished to do.

He couldn't keep going.

 _One by one it's over, this screaming can't get louder_  
 _Bolt my jaw shut and throw away, away, away the key_  
 _Just one second longer, A speed run to game over_  
 _I'm praying for serenity_

The next morning, Lukas was roused awake by a rather concerned Forsyth.

"Lukas?" He asked, withdrawing his cold hand from the other's sleep-warmed shoulder. "Even though Sir Clive wished for you to not be disturbed, it's almost midday. you should eat something."

Lukas blinks owlishly at the blurred green shape in front of him. "I... alright."

A warm bowl of soup was pressed into his hands. Lukas expected Forsyth to leave, but the other man only sits down next to him, watching him in concern.

"You were also mumbling in your sleep," Forsyth admits after a moment. "You scared the living daylights out of me when you seized my hand. Is everything alright?"

Lukas dismisses it quickly- too quickly. "Everything is alright, Forsyth, You needn't worry yourself over someone like me." He sips the thin broth, hoping that it would warm him up, but he just remained cold.

He downed the rest of the soup, passing the bowl back to Forsyth. "Thank you."

"Of course, Lukas!" Forsyth manages a smile, but Lukas could have sworn that it was more of a grimace. "Feel free to chat, if you need it!"

He pushes the tent flaps open and disappears outside.

 _I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing_  
 _I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard_  
 _Let me feel panic, panic, panic again_  
 _Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars_

Lukas stares down at his bandaged hands- the very same that were stained red with so many people. Husbands. Sons. Brothers.

Was he truly cut out for this path?

He clenches his fists, and ignoring the burning sensation in his chest and legs, he stands. Picking up his shirt that was draped over a nearby chair, he throws it over his head and walks out of the tent.

 _And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me_  
 _Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely_  
 _Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity_  
 _Come on, come and be free_  
 _Come on, come and see_

The camp was bustling and busy. Horses and their riders trained with a commander off in the far distance. Cooks were busy trying to make something to feed the entire army. It felt... too normal for an army. Odd.

Wrong.

No one cared. _No one cared_. They were murdering children. Sons, brothers, lovers. This was... this was so truly and utterly _wrong._

Why would his brother force him to join this society of murderers?

Perhaps he _wanted_ Lukas to become a monster. He was already a disgrace to his family for refusing to hold a lance. Why would this be a far cry from what he would do?

Soldiers waved or stood as Lukas limped past them. He didn't acknowledge them. _Murderers._

 _I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing_  
 _I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard_  
 _Let me feel panic, panic, panic again_  
 _Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars_

He stops in front of Clive's tent, his mind set on telling Clive how _wrong_ they were to battle these men. Something made him pause.

 _No._

He couldn't face Clive about this.

He wouldn't understand.

He was one of _them._

 _And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me_  
 _Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely_  
 _Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity_  
 _Come on, Come and be free_  
 _Come on, Come and see_

He could see clearly now. He could see so clearly, it hurt.

All they were doing: it was wrong. He couldn't support a cause such as this.

He was a monster. They turned him into one. He wasn't a monster. He refused to be.

His mind was made up.

 _Make it a secret, think you can keep it?_  
 _I'm not okay and I'll never be the same_  
 _Let's make a surprise, set a date and time_

He hurried to his rent before he could change his mind. He didn't have much in the way of personal effects- a few books and a pin that he snagged from his home before he was sent off to this army.

Packing up what little clothes he had, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and quietly exited camp.

Looking back, Lukas breathes out.

He was free.

He turns away and starts the long trek to the nearest village.

 _Don't let them know_  
 _I won't say goodbye before I go_


	7. I'm Here For You

_**Warnings**_ _: Implied child abuse/neglect_

 _ **-S-**_

The tiny boy sniffed quietly, wiping tears away from his cheeks. He was hiding away in one of the storage tents, hoping to avoid the attention of the others. It was hard to control what little emotions that he felt in this state. It was as though the wall that held them back broke within him.

He scrubbed away the tears, trying to stop them from flowing so freely. His red-brown eyes were puffy from crying for so long. He sniffed again, evening his breathing out.

"Lukas? Lukas, where are you?" A familiar feminine voice called out.

 _They're looking for you,_ a piece of him whispered. _Perhaps you should answer._

He didn't, ignoring that tiny voice. He felt so small in such a large and terrifying world.

The voice sighed. "Lady Mathilda, he isn't here."

"Alright, thank you, Silque. I'm sure... I'm sure he wants some time alone." He heard Mathilda murmur to the cleric. "I'm sure he'll appear with the dawn."

Lukas curled up in a ball, laying down. _Just enough time to compose yourself._ The more mature part of him said.

His eyes drifted shut. He honestly felt like Python, napping at a time like this, but maybe it'll help get his mind of what happened.

 _ **-M-**_

Clive walked into the supplies tent. Since the other soldiers-turned-kids were asleep, it was his turn to take stock.

Normally, even child Lukas would take care of this, but since he disappeared...

He shoved the thought away of a dead or dying child Lukas. He couldn't have gone far, right? He was too sensible to run away.

Earlier, Zeke came to him to give him an alarming piece of news.

 _"Oh, Sir Zeke. What is it?" Clive picked up at the report papers that were scribbled over by one of the kids. He clicked his tongue in disdain. Another night of reports, wasted._

 _"I do not know why, but one of your solders tripped in front of me and bolted away. I do not know where he went." Zeke informed. His deep voice was oddly even-keeled for the news he had presented._

 _Clive straightened up, eyes widening. "What? Can you describe him?"_

 _"I believe he was red-haired. Sir Lukas, was it?"_

 _"This is a grave situation. We must look for him at once."_

Unfortunately, their search hadn't yielded Lukas' location. They'd hoped that he'd return by the dawn.

 _Perhaps we should have searched harder._ Clive thought as he lit the lantern. A flash of red caught his eye.

"Lukas?" The boy was curled up on the dirty floor, evidently asleep.

The boy, roused by the light shining from the lantern, rubbed his eyes. "Huuuuh?"

Clive knelt down, placing the lantern aside to inspect the child's face. It was unmarred, but tear tracks and snot still stained his face. His nose was red, eyes swollen from crying. "Lukas, what are you doing in here?"

"Hidin'..." He mumbles, standing up. He looked like a small child who had been caught sleeping in their parent's room after a terrible dream.

"Whatever for?" Clive asked gently, pulling Lukas closer to protect him from the cold Rigelian night.

"Sir Zeke scared me..." He mumbles, leaning into Clive's warmth.

He clicks his tongue softly, picking Lukas up. He was really light, for such a small boy. "You poor thing. C'mon, up you get. It's bedtime for you."

"Okay, Dad." Clive freezes, almost dropping him in his surprise. _Did he just say-_

Before he could ask him what he meant, Lukas fell asleep in his arms. His eyes softened, seeing his little face. It was pure and innocent, though not naive. It was without the hard lines of worry or a mask of cold professionalism that he would usually display.

The word rattled around in his head as he mulled over what Lukas had said to him. He pushed the flap away from the tent that the others were sleeping in.

 _'Dad'. Does he see me as a father figure?_ He pried him off (he was surprisingly clingy) and set Lukas down in his bedroll, tucking him in.

A soft smile touched Clive's lips. Lukas was a child.

A child in such a dark world.

A child with such a dark past.

His smile fades as he realizes this. _Perhaps he sees me as a father figure because of his family..._

He quietly tiptoes out of the tent where the kids were sleeping. It wouldn't do to wake them all up just because Lukas was out late.

He sighs, heading off to his own tent, his former task now abandoned for some introspection.

 _I will be Lukas' replacement for his father,_ he decided. _He deserves one- a good father._


	8. It's Snowing Out!

The air felt... Different, somehow, when Alm woke up. In fact, the light looked different today, as it streamed in through the small crack in his curtains with little light grey streaks instead of the buttery-yellow hue he was used to seeing in the summer, spring, and fall.

Everything was cold. The boy shivered, curling up in his covers as the chill wafted through a drafty part of his room. He was tempted to drift back to sleep, but the clattering of pots and pans (no doubt his grandfather) and chattering of young voices coaxed him out of his coocoon of blankets and pillows.

Dragging a sheet off his mattress and lazily draping it over his shoulders, his bare feet padded out into the hall. "Grandfather, what-"

Two figures collided into Alm, nearly bowling him over in their excitement.

"Alm!" Gray gasped, pulling his one arm to the door. "It-it- look outside!"

Tobin, on the other hand, was pulling Alm to the opposite side of the house to a window. "It _snowed!_ And it looks beautiful outside! Look, look, look!"

Alm did look, and it was absolutely stunning. Undisturbed snow laid like a gentle blanket over the usually-green grass. Though the colors in the landscape seemed to leech out of the world into greys and whites, the contrast between the bare trees was breathtaking. The sky was an endless crisp blue that made him feel so... Small compared to the world.

"Woah," He breaths, his green eyes wide with wonder.

"We never get this much snow," Kliff admits. "It's usually a dusting most seasons. I'm not sure what to _do_ with all of it."

Gray threw open the door, causing Faye to squeak in protest.

"Gray! It's cold out!" She complained, trying to not step in the snow that tumbled inside the house. "If Sir Mycen sees-"

"Sir Mycen sees _what?_ " The older warrior raised an eyebrow at the five mischief makers, crossing his arms and stroking his mustache in a _very serious_ manner. "I can very well hear you, Miss Faye."

"We, uh... Accidentally let some snow in?" Gray sheepishly admits, pushing the snow back with his booted foot. "We'll clean it though!"

Mycen nodded. "Mhm. Make sure you do after breakfast."

The five children sit at the table, stuffing down some pancakes.

"Cwn we giof outfide to pay?" Tobin asked around a mouthful of food, spewing out some bits of chewed up pancakes across the table (Kliff sticks his tongue out in a grossed out fashion and flicks the bits at Gray, who wipes his hand on his trousers with an 'ew').

"Swallow," Mycen says before answering his question. "And yes, you may, but only after you clean up your mess."

They all nod and clean up in record time. Mycen chuckles. The wonders of rewarding playtime after chores.

Alm grabbed his cloak and boots after throwing in some old clothes and stockings. "Let's go!"

The snow was cold. Very cold. Like ice. But it felt nice against his bruises that he got the other day during training.

Gray flopped into the snow, waving his arms and legs through it and standing up. "Look guys! It's a snow person!"

"I can make a better one!" Tobin challenged, flopping down (face-first this time), too. "It's a perfect snow person!"

Faye and Alm were rolling a ball of snow into a larger ball, then putting another smaller one on top of this one.

"I wanna call him... Snowy!" Faye grins.

"Doesn't he need eyes?" Alm tilts his head. "Oh!"

He runs into the stables, grabbing a carrot and two stones. "There!"

Tobin and Gray, bored with making snow people, look over.

"He's kinda short," Tobin observes.

"He's cute!" Faye retorts.

"Short," Gray agrees.

"Cute!"

" _Short!_ "

" _Cute_!"

Someone stuffed snow down Tobin's collar, making him shriek and squirm in protest, trying to get the cold stuff out.

Kliff giggles, holding another handful of snow and flinging it at Gray before running away.

"You're not getting away with that!" Gray shouts, stooping to pick up some snow to throw at Kliff. He misses, only hitting Alm, who likewise retaliated. Tobin had two handfuls and was too busy chucking the snow around to notice that Faye snuck up behind him to dump a while bunch of snow in his, now wet, hair.

"I'm gonna get you!" He growls, though a wide smile stretches across his face. "You better run!"

The small group of children stayed outside and frolicked in the snow for a better part of the day, ignoring Mycen's protests to come inside, lest they catch a cold. Like the children they were, they refused to go inside, but that was no matter.

Life was good.


	9. Thank You

It must have been destiny, for his son to bear the brand.

It must have been destiny, for his son to be sent away.

It must have been destiny, to meet on the battlefield like this.

Rudolph watched Alm direct his troops that took his every command. Pride swelled in his breast. He was every bit a commander as his father, who likewise could command troops as easily as Alm did.

 _"Rudolph?!"_ Alm cried, finally spotting him observing from the ramparts. _"You waged war on Zofia! You broke the sacred pact that Duma and Mila made all those centuries ago!"_

Ah. So he was aware of that.

Rudolph doesn't respond, waiting to see how his son would react to his silence. There was none, aside from a glare.

The battle waged on in the castle courtyard. His soldiers and All's soldiers fought ceaselessly, both grappling for an advantage in the penultimate battle.

"Sir!" One of the rookies in his squad gaped at Rudolph's inaction. "W-Why won't you fight? The others... They're fighting! And dying in your name! Why?!"

There was a ripple of unease amongst the squad following his words. Indeed, it was rather... Cowardly, especially by Rigelian standards, to sit back and let others fight for them. Hell, even the lords would fight amongst their soldiers at least.

 _Coward_ rippled through the soldiers as they shifted in discomfort. Rudolph wouldn't fight these pesky Zofians. He could easily crush them, if he wanted to. He was the strongest man alive, being Emperor for this long. He served loyally under Duma. He slew Mila. There was nothing that could stop him.

Rudolph paused, letting his soldier's words sink in. Was he truly a coward, for not fighting in this battle? The one that meant the fall of the Rigelian Empire of he were slain?

 _No,_ he reminded himself. _Rigel will not fall. Alm is meant to survive. If I interfere, humankind will never cast off the shackles of the gods. Even if I must die by my son's blade, he will be the next Emperor in my stead._

He doesn't say anything, but his silence is enough to stop the muttering. It was for the greater good. This needed to happen.

Alm cut through the ranks, brandishing the Royal Blade at his father.

"Rudolph! Die!" Alm screams, jumping upwards and slashing down. He blocks the attack, but doesn't counter like he normally would.

Rudolph's squad mobilizes, but All's forces close in on them, distracting them and drawing them away.

 _Smart,_ he nods in quiet approval.

Alm aims for yet another slash, this time, cutting through his armor. And yet, he still refused to fight back. He watched his son, pain sparking in his chest. He shouldn't have to do this. But it's the only way.

"Why...? Why won't you fight back?!" Alm demands. "Fight back, you coward!"

Rudolph closes his eyes in response.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ was lost in the din of the battlefield. _"It shouldn't have come to this, but it is for the greater good."_

Alm continued to rain slash after slash down on the weary Emperor. With a final stab, his blade sliced through the iron of Rudolph's armor, causing him to stagger back and crumple. Alm panted, kneeling by the older man.

"You did well, my son." Rudolph breathed. Alm visibly recoiled.

"S-Son...? Y-You... I killed-" Alm shook his head. "N-No. Rudolph never had children."

Rudolph only shook his mighty head. "Your name... Your full name... Is Albein 'Alm' Rudolph. You are destined for great things, son. I believe in you."

Before Alm could interject, Rudolph raised his gloved hand and rested it on his head, just like he had always wanted to. Pain surged through his being, but he could not tell if it was his heart breaking or the wound in his stomach.

"F-Father...?" Alm whispers, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

"My son. I am so proud of you." He could feel energy leaving his body as he uttered the words. "You are the finest of Rigelians. You have done your country proud."

A tear rolls down his cheek and into his beard, though it was a happy one. "I am thankful that... I may see you again, though the circumstances were dire.

"Thank you."

With a final, shuddering breath, the great Rigelian Emperor fell.


	10. Dungeons And Saints

_Where was she?_

Tatiana blinked, sitting up and squinting in the dim light. She was surrounded by stone, and not the stone of her cozy home, that was for sure. And there were metal bars. Wait, metal bars?

She suddenly sat up, chains clinking as she did so. Panic filled her chest. "Zeke! Zeke, Zeke, help!"

Her cries echoed through the chamber. It was a rather lonesome sound. Panic turned into fear, and fear multiplied into cold dread as she dashed to the doorway... or at least as far as the chains would let her. They rattled with an ungodly noise as they dragged across the grimy floor.

"Anyone! Please, I'm in here!" She screamed again. Nothing.

She backed up, her chest heaving. Try to calm yourself down. What did Zeke teach you about being help captive? Come on, Tatiana, think!

"Uh... uh..." She continued to pace around her tiny cell, looking for anything that could free her. Loose stone bricks? No, no, she wasn't strong enough for that. What could she do with a pile of brick anyways? Nails? No, that couldn't do anything, either. There were some bones... human... bones...

Oh. _Oh_. Maybe it was that lout Jerome! Yeah! That totally made sense! But... none of his underlings were that silent, because even the strays kittens banging around her kitchen at ungodly hours in the morning would wake her up, despite her being a heavy sleeper. Back to square one.

Oh! There was a witch! Oh. _Oh_. She was taken by the witch. The very same that captured young ladies for her rituals.

Tatiana's hands started to shake as she clasped them together in a prayer motion. Oh, Father Duma... this can't be, can it? Please, give me your protection, I beg of you.

Okay. She's to be a sacrifice. And she was held captive by a witch, who would use her in her rituals. Would Zeke even know where she was?

Worry blossomed in the pit of her stomach. He was across the plains, if she was where she was thinking she was.

Her thoughts started to take a darker turn. _If Zeke doesn't know where I am, then how would he rescue me? What if he tries to rescue me, but it's too late? What if he's killed before I get to see him again?_

 _What if this was all my fault?_

She runs her hands shakily thorough her hair. She can't bear that thought, but in the silent, oppressive atmosphere, it seems to ring as though it had been spoken.

"Father Duma," She prays again. "I beg of you.. please keep Zeke safe, no matter the cost. Please give him your strength and protect him through all of the trials he'll have to face. Please..."

A tear runs down her cheek. _Be safe, my sweet Ezekiel._


	11. The Excalibur Sage

Luthier never was much one for small talk. Of course, he never really bothered much for it anyways, but that was besides the point. Making nice to people was all well and good, but he never truly _got it_. Why waste time talking when he should be studying? That was a good use of what limited time he had on this earth. Perhaps he could show his sister some sense.

He passed by one of the fruit stands. One of the ladies whispered as he passed. Was it good? Bad? Only time would tell. Not doubt that Delthea would barge into his study, chattering like a starling, about the latest gossip about him. Or others. But mostly about him.

It was a rather gorgeous day outside, actually; perfect for spell practice. At least, he won't be exploding his study with potions he brewed wrong. _If I am to brew potions today, should I do them outside...?_

No. No potions. He'd like his fingers intact, thank you very much.

He scurried inside, gathering his spellbooks, then hurried outside, to start practicing.

The sun beat down on his head and shoulders as he incanted over and over again, hoping that e could summon more of the raw, powerful energy he first felt when he cast his first spell. Nothing ever felt good enough. It never was enough. He had to practice more and more. Until he was every bit as powerful as his lazy sister.

He furrowed his brow as the sparks disappeared. He snaps his fingers, digging into his subconscious to perhaps summon that power.

His frown deepened as he realized he had lost his focus. What did he think of now that make him like this? He was in a secluded forest; away from civilization, and more importantly, his sister.

 _His sister._

With a malcontented grumble, he tossed the scroll aside, letting it fall onto the stack. He ran his hands through his yellow-orange hair, mussing it up and making it stick up in weird places. He placed in place, trying to gather his thoughts to try and dispel them.

His sister. Always with his sister. He knew jealousy and spite would do nothing. It wouldn't help him or his studies. Then why did he feel this way?

He'll never be as good as her; that was certain.

But the only thing he could do was to try. He picks up the scroll again, intent on mastering this skill. He snaps his fingers once more, pleased to find that his focus has returned somewhat.

Social niceties be damned. He had work to do.


	12. I Failed You, Celica

The catacombs were rather dull, for the most part. Well, aside from the odd Terror here or there. Aside from that, it was rather boring. However, the deeper they went... something odd strange started to happen. The air started to become heavier and thicker, stifling the soldiers. It was thick with dust and... smoke. Water dripped from the cavern walls. Something felt... off.

"It's really warm for some reason," Gray panted, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I though the being underground would be cooler?"

"It would be, if there weren't Fire mages everywhere." Kliff snarks.

"If there are any more of those witches, mages, whatever, I think I'm going to keel over and die."

Alm frowned. Now that Gray did mention it, it was rather warm. Humid, almost. It wasn't good, especially with all the Terrors and witches that had spawned recently. He remembered what Python had told him the frost day he met him.

 _"Terrors spawn in greater numbers the closer you get to Mila's power."_

Well, if Mila was nowhere near here, would the same apply to Duma's power, too? From what he gathered from the few sane priests in Castle Rigel, they were near the worship altar for Duma.

Probably.

He hoped Duma wasn't around the corner.

"Everyone, stay on their guard. I don't know what's around this corner, but we shouldn't take any chances." He says instead.

They round the corner; the heat and humidity intensifies to almost stifling temperatures.

"What the- Berkut?!"

The teen stood, hearing his name being called. He dropped something that landed with a heavy thud. A sinking feeling grew in Alm's chest.

"I-Is that...?"

Berkut laughed, long and loud. A bright red and gold figure materializes from the flames behind him. The figure -she- hovered before Berkut, touching his chest affectionately. A crazed grin splits across his face. "My dear Rinea... isn't she beautiful?"

"You offered up the woman you love to Duma, all for power? H-How could you?!" Alm staggers back, feeling sick at the apparition. Berkut didn't seem to care wither way. He muttered something about power and strength before beckoning to the flame witch.

"Come, Rinea... once this peasant is dead, we'll have our funeral atop his grave!"

Alm swallowed the lump in his throat, clearly disturbed, though he didn't wish to show it. "A-Alright everyone. To arms!"

Tobin's horse balked slightly, seeing as more Terrors materialized from the dark. Telltale warp sigils glow as Rinea summoned more witches.

"Oh, Mila..." Faye whispers, "T-This is... we can't fight this!"

Alm gulped again. "No... We can! I'm sure we can!" Taking up a shaky stance, he faced the fallen lord. This was it. He had fallen, and must be stopped.

Lunging forward, Alm screamed a battle cry, his soldiers echoing it in the background as they charged. The Terrors that stood back in wait for a battle crawled forward, ugly noises emitting from the corpses.

Both forces clash, one fighting for justice, and the other fighting for blood.

Berkut urged his horse forward, approaching Alm. "How could someone like you kill my uncle? You're naught but a child."

The hoofbeats undercut the noise of the other battling soldiers and Terrors. They were full of malice and contempt. Alm panted, gripping the sword in his hands tighter. He would have to kill his own cousin, the very same that would take his throne, had he not been told of his birthright. The very same that sacrificed his wife to his god. He would be justified to hate him. In fact, he _should_ hate him.

But he couldn't bring himself to.

"Berkut! We.. we can make-" Alm dodges the descending lance, but doesn't strike out and counter like he normally would. "I'll let you take the throne! Please, stop this madness!"

His cousin only scoffed, and jabbed his knee into his horse's side. It kicks Alm, hard, in the chest, sending him flying backwards. "You would never willingly give me the throne! It has never passed power peacefully! Fight or die!"

Alm staggered to his feet against his opponent, stabbing his blade into the ground to use as a cane to prop himself up. He shouted something, and raised his blade once more. His posture sagged, but he seemed determined to not give up. Berkut laughs again in contempt, swatting the blade away as through it were a fly. Unarmed and injured, Alm rolled away from Berkut's first strike, but realized that, too late, it was a feint.

He was trapped against a wall, with no where else to run to.

Celica watched onwards with horror as the two armies fought. _It couldn't have gotten to this point... no, it couldn't be! He promised that he wouldn't die! He... he won't. He_ promised _._

"Alm!" She cries, stretching her hand out to try to touch the illusion. Her hand only passed through it, the magic turning to smoke where she touched it. "A-Alm... please..."

Her pruple-face captor grins. "End your lover's suffering. Offer your soul to Duma."

"A-Alm..." her lower lip trembled as she watched the dark cavalier prepare to strike downwards. There was no mercy on the man's face. Only the need for revenge. Revenge against her beloved Alm.

It wasn't fair. It _wasn't fair_.

She closed her eyes, just as she heard Alm cry out. Her heart torn to shreds, she reached out to try and take Alm's hand in hers. To take his pain as hers. Fior him to be _safe_ and happy with _her_.

Another scream came from the illusion. Her mind made up, Celica finally spoke over his howls "Take my soul. I... I pledge myself to Duma, faithfully and wholly."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a burning, fiery pain spread from her right palm to her heart. She screams out, white flooding her vision. It was as though she was burning. Tears force their way out of her eyes and streaked her dirt-stained face.

"Alm!" She screams, though it was no use. He was nowhere near where she was. She couldn't be saved. It was too late.

The white-hot pain in her heart sparked once again, sending another wave of tremors through her body. A dark figure loomed in her periphery. She couldn't quite make out what it was... or who it was. Malice emanated from the figure, but somehow... a deep sadness thrummed along with it.

"Duma..." She whispers. The figure was gone as soon as she whispered his name. The pain ceased, and all went black.


End file.
